


Have a Holly Jolly- Stop Putting Silver Tinsel on the Corgi!

by Kitty_KatAllie



Series: Winchester’s Home For Wayward Kids [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas fic, Destiel Advent Calendar, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:01:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_KatAllie/pseuds/Kitty_KatAllie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Christmas 2021 in Hurleysville, New York and the already hectic lives in Sonny's old farmhouse get one more complication. Only, it's not just Sunny's Home for Boys now. It's a Home for Wayward Kids and it's filled to the seams with the kind of kids that fall through the cracks of the system. The kids no one seems to think about; the ones who lost a home because of what hides in the dark; the ones that are more scared of the picket fence and the ignorant eyes of those who don't know than they are of the open road and silver knives under the pillow.</p><p>Dean and Cas work together making a safe home for the wayward & lost for the fifth Christmas in a row. When Paul, angry and grieving, is brought to their door, they don't hesitate to welcome him in. Even with a bloody past and an uncertain future. Sometimes a kid has to learn they deserve a Christmas. The Wayward Home is the best place to learn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have a Holly Jolly- Stop Putting Silver Tinsel on the Corgi!

It started with a phone call.

 

“It’s time for me to hang up my hat, D-Dawg.”

 

The sentence that began Dean’s new life. His _better_ life. Better than the Apple Pie Life, with a picket fence and 2.5 kids. Better than hunting and fighting and dying (though, okay, he “fell off the wagon” every so often and went hunting on his “vacations”). Now the sign leading up the farmhouse had a poor excuse for a wooden patch over “for boys”, stating “ _wayward children”_ in sloppily white paint faded by the years and weather. Dean had refused to paint, or patch, over Sonny’s name, though. The farmhouse was filled with kids of all ages- not to mention various genders- and friends made along the way that enjoyed coming by for weeks or months at a time to help out. Phones rang almost constantly, asking for contacts, advice, and a place to keep an innocent kid safe. The Impala gleamed in the driveway almost 364 days a year and hard rock warred with pop, jazz, and friggin’ _Gregorian chants_ (okay, so it was really just Mozart or Beethoven shit, close enough). Books littered almost every surface and treated with more delicate care than the glassware, Devil’s Traps, salt lines, and Angel sigils were hidden cunningly in the woodwork and every entrance, and, lastly, every afternoon saw the whole household going through self-defense training, including Sunday shooting practice.

 

Now, though, Christmas time had come again. His fifth Christmas _home_. Home in the way the Impala still could be when he took off with Sam in the passenger seat as “Back in Black” blared proudly. Home in the way the bunker in Kansas, with its myriad of rooms and trophies and books, could be when he sat across from Kevin and Charlie and compared notes on monsters, antidotes, and myths. Home in the way warm nights in a clean bed could be next to a person he trusted to be there when he woke up, who kept a hand on his stomach no matter how far they sprawled over the large memory foam mattress.

 

Dean stomped his way downstairs, carrying a stack of heavy boxes, the top one trailing a banner of fake pine needles. Behind him was a tall boy with freckles and startling green eyes- though the resemblance ended there as the boy’s hair was bright red and curly, body whip-lean. His bright pink shirt with its freakishly smiling unicorn was barely covered by the box he, too, carried that jangled and chimed as the redhead hopped down the last steps into the hallway.

 

“To the parlor, right, Pops?” the redhead quipped brightly, grinning over his box towards Dean, mascara and eyeliner making his green eyes pop.

 

“I swear, Lenny, if you call me pops one more time,” Dean growled threateningly as he headed towards the front room. “And it’s a _living room_ , ya limey.”

 

The redhead, _Lenny_ , laughed uproariously and darted past Dean’s lumbering form with quick, almost deer-like bounds. Inside, a naked pine tree stood in the corner with about four other battered cardboard boxes. Two little kids with blonde hair kneeled in the midst of it, digging through a few and already littering the ground with tinsel and coils of green wires and tiny lightbulbs.

 

“Rita, Kyle! Oh, _come on_ , I told you two- Kimaya?” Dean roared, dropping his boxes with a frustrated grunt and wincing at the sound of crunches. Cas would kill him if a whole box of ornaments got broken… _again_. None of them liked to talk about the Lenny-Catastrophe of two Christmas’s past. Truly angry Cas was a truly fucking _scary_ Cas.

 

“Dean, I’m right here. I told them not to, but they wanted to,” said a calm, uninterested voice from behind him. Dean spun around and fixed a glare on the diminutive brunette with very strong Indian features curled up on _his_ armchair _, thank you very fucking much_ , and reading a book. She didn’t even bother looking up, just licked her finger and turned a page.

 

When he turned back around, Lenny was sprawled on the ground next to the twins, exclaiming over the long-forgotten treasures of last year. The twins had arrived this past July. They were talking in their weird “twinspeak” again, made even harder to understand with the shrieks interspersed throughout their discoveries. Dean rubbed his face and held back a groan.

 

“Where the hell is Portia? Please tell me the missing rugrat is with her and not behind the tree eating the pine needles again,” Dean muttered.

 

“Last I heard-” Kimaya paused and tilted her head, a lot like Cas, which with her short brown hair and prominently pointed nose over full lips, made her look eerily like the former angel’s lost progeny or some shit. “Yep, she’s still chasing the corgi down. Bath time.”

 

Dean grinned. “Never fails.”

 

“Nope,” Kimaya agreed, shooting him a quick smirk, before throwing herself back in her paperback. “By the way, ten minutes and guests’ll be here.”

 

“Really? Oh, right- You caught that call from Howard?”

 

“Just bits, didn’t care too much after I heard “rugaru”. But he just entered city limits with the new delivery.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes. He bent down and grabbed each twin in one hand. With a low grunt, they were hauled in the air, chubby arms and legs flailing as they shrieked, twisted, and laughed. Lenny hopped up, eyes flashing with amusement.

 

“All right, you little monsters. Head upstairs and clear out Jenny’s old bed, ya hear me? I mean it. If I see you back down here goofing off again, I’ll tell Santa to leave your presents in the North Pole,” Dean warned, swinging  them just enough to have them shrieking with laughter again.

 

“We promise!” Kyle screamed, face becoming red as he tried to blow his bangs out of his eyes and regain his breath at the same time.

 

“Is there really a Santa, Dean?” Rita asked breathlessly, trying to twist around and meet his face.

 

“I’ve met about three different ones, so I’m sure there’s a real one somewhere. Now get,” Dean ordered, dropping them on their feet. They raced away, still cackling.

 

“I’ll make sure it gets done, Pops,” Lenny offered, loping after the twins and hands shoved down in the sweatpants’ pockets.

 

“Make sure ya do, and stop calling me Pops, ginger!”

 

“Tomorrow Lenny’ll probably be blonde. Though, he’s thinking emo-black just to see how many dorky nicknames you go for,” Kimaya told him nonchalantly as Dean bent down to pick up the twins’ mess and make sure none of the lightbulbs were busted.

 

“I’ll make a list tonight,” Dean replied, making Kimaya snort. “How are Cas ‘n’ Tweedledee and Tweedledum?”

 

“Outside making nuisances of themselves. Cas is probably going to hit them with a wrench at some point. I doubt Patty’s stubborn head would even feel it, though, and he isn’t even a Super,” Kimaya quipped with an eyeroll that only teenage girls could pull off that well. Dean chuckled. “Before you ask, Timmy’s still in town studying, though it seems like they’re wrapping it up. He keeps get distracted by Melanie’s lipgloss. Dumbass doesn’t get why she put it on,” Kimaya sighed. Dean raised his eyebrow at her. She shrugged. “What? Timmy’s in my head a lot. It’s hard to kick him out unless he leaves the friggin’ town.”

 

“Try not to pick on him for-”

 

“What I pick up if I’m not supposed to know, I got it,” Kimaya sighed.

 

Dean ruffled her hair, making her squeak and slap his arm, but he was already moving away, whistling “Ramblin’ On”. He had at least five minutes to get dinner in the oven. Luckily, he’d prepared most of it at lunch time and just needed to be popped in as the time set.

 

There was a loud yip of a small dog, then the clatter and slip-slide of paws over hardwood upstairs and louder, frustrated barking as the racket barrelled down the stairs. More and more feet pounded after the sound until it was like a parade crashing through the dining room and out into the yard. Hollers and screams followed a large, sleek Doberman chasing after a tiny, golden ball of fur and tiny paws. It looked like they were headed for the barn. Kid was nuts if he thought Cas would help him out. Not against Portia.

 

-

 

The scents of tomato and cheese had already filled the whole farmhouse when the doorbell echoed through the house almost ten minutes later. Howard must’ve stopped for something. Dean wiped his hands on a rag and hurried towards the door. In the living room, Kimaya was peeking over the top of her book, trying not to look interested and failing. Dean twitched aside the curtain and frowned at the burly hunter and little boy now standing on his stoop. Howard was about forty, and looked sixty, with steel grey hair and weather-beaten tanned features. He wore the usual jeans, steel-toed boots, and tough khaki coat under a thicker camo-green parka. The kid looked lost and scared and angry, a surly frown twisted up his tiny dark face. His clothes looked nice, though, like upper middle class nice. Bright shiny blue, probably just bought this year, Levi jeans, and some sweet-looking sneakers Kyle would probably try to swipe. Had that neon look to the green stripes that probably meant they glowed in the dark or some shit like that. The suitcase Howard lugged was freaking _designer_ brand, like brass plaque and everything and Dean mentally cursed. Angry rich kid with a bloody trail of bodies behind him stuck in a house full of people who, on a good month, rubbed two twenties together? Oh, this is going to be _great_.

 

“Hey, Dean? You’ll be great. You always think you’ll fail the next one, but you never do, you know,” Kimaya said softly. Dean turned to look at her.

 

“Stop spending so much damn time with Cas. It’s getting freaky, witchgirl,” Dean muttered, stomping to the door as Kimaya giggled.

 

He flung the door open and exchanged nods with Howard.

 

“You know the drill, man,” Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the doorjamb. He shivered a bit as the freezing, evening air rushed over his arms. It was so warm inside the house, he tended to forget it was five feet of snow outside and below 0 on the thermostat. His eyes settled on the kid’s surly face.

 

“Yeah, I remember. Kid, too?” Howard asked as he held out a hand. Dean pulled a silver knife from the small of his back and handed it over.

 

“No need to cut on a kid, Howard. I got something else. Hey,” Dean said, his voice gentling automatically as he looked down at the child. Dark brown in an even darker face gaped up at him, wide and fearful as they darted towards the knife and back. “Paul, right?”

 

“Paul Grant,” the boy choked out. Dean grinned.

 

“Hey, Paul. I’m Dean-”

 

“Not Sonny?” Paul interrupted, eyebrows scrunching together in confusion.

 

Dean watched Howard cut a slip of skin on his forearm with the knife, watched red blood well up and fall without the hiss of a burn bubbling over his arm. He waved them both forward, shoulders relaxing as they stepped out of the circle of the devil trap carved into the wood on the underside of the porch boards.

 

“Sonny owned this place ‘bout five years back. It’s mine and Cas’ now. You’ll meet Cas and all the other hooligans later. It’s just you, me, n’ Howard right now,” Dean said, crouching down and holding out a hand to Paul. In it sat a silver dollar. “You don’t get the coin, though, that’s mine, but I need you to shake my hand.”

 

Paul eyed his outstretched hand and the coin warily, then gripped it tightly and shook. Dean grinned again. “There, that’s a shake.Your Daddy taught you?” Dean asked as their hands fell away. He flipped the coin up in the air and then tucked it in his pocket. Paul nodded mutely, eyes looking shiny before the scowl came back. “How old are you?”

 

“Eight,” Paul muttered, finally tearing his eyes away and scuffing his boot. Dean got to his feet and met Howard’s eyes.

 

“You going to stay for dinner? You know Patrick loves it when you do,” Dean pointed out. Howard shook his head, then dragged his hand through his hair with a sigh.

 

“Don’t think I can. Pat’s daddy’s been silent on the hunter radio. I don’t think I can face the kid till I can figure out where his old man is,” Howard explained softly. Dean’s face got hard and dark.

 

“Last heard, Williams was down in New Orleans. Some sort of hoodoo business?” Dean murmured, arms dropping to his sides as he leaned forward.

 

“Yeah, same here. I was headed down when I heard about Martin Grant,” Howard explained, eyes flickering to Paul. The boy just stared at his feet.

 

“I’ll take his stuff. C’mon, Paul, we’ll get you to your bed and locker before dinner’s done. Burnt lasagna tastes like shit, right?” Dean asked, taking the suitcase and looking down at Paul, who merely shrugged. “Thanks, Howard. Take care, man.”

 

“You, too, Winchester. Y’all… y’all are doing a good thing here. Merry Christmas,” Howard muttered uncomfortably, before shoving his callused, tough hands into his pockets and striding off.

 

“Hunters and their gift of words. Classic,” Dean joked as Paul shuffled past him into the house. Kimaya set down her book and came around the corner. With a studied air of calmness, she wrapped her arm around Paul’s torso and pulled him back against the wall.

 

“Hey! What are you-” Paul’s cry of outrage and fear was eclipsed as Dean’s ankles were slammed out from underneath him.

 

A corgi went flying down the hallway, tongue lolling from its gaping mouth, glancing back as Dean crashed to the ground with a loud, angry curse. The Doberman jumped elegantly over Dean’s lower torso and ran on, panting now, but still more contained than the floppy creature now running into the staircase bottom step. Behind the Doberman came Lenny, the twins, and two more teenage boys covered in grease and dirt and sweat and bundled up in scarves and jackets that hung messily from their frames. They were all whooping and egging the corgi on, catcalling as the little thing dizzily stumbled to the left after its impact against the stair.

 

With barely a shiver of muscles, a curvy, dark-skinned woman wearing the Doberman’s collar had scooped up the little corgi and stood to her full height made even taller with the two inch stilettos. Paul yelped and flattened against the wall, but most of the crowd ignored him for the woman.

 

“Keep your eyes front, pup,” she told the corgi sternly, a little breathless but otherwise fine.

 

“Caught him a whole twenty minutes faster than Dean does,” laughed one of the grease-covered teenage boys. He was the taller boy with vaguely Hispanic features of dark hair and eyes and lightly tanned skin. There was a tattoo on the back of his neck, mostly covered by hair.

 

“Well, she does have a four-leg-advantage,” muttered the other boy was short and compact, with fair skin and light brown hair. His face was pulled into a disapproving frown, though seconds before he’d been just as excited as the others.

 

“Deegs, Pat, get your oil-smeared asses back out to the barn,” Dean ordered as he clambered to his feet, batting away the hand Lenny held out.

 

“Oh, _come on_ , Cas didn’t care-” whined Deegs, the taller one.

 

“Out! There’s enough mud and snow in here without adding grease to it,” Dean repeated firmly, grabbing them by the shoulders and pushing them to the front door.

 

Slamming the door behind them, he immediately turned back to Paul, who was still pressed back against the wall by Kimaya, eyes wide in confusion and not a little fear. He met Kimaya’s eyes and she nodded to him. She leaned down to grasp Paul’s shoulder, but it was that moment he turned back to Portia standing by the stairs and let out another yelp.

 

“They’re- they’re  both humans now! What are they? Is everyone here a freak?” Paul exclaimed, pointing at Portia. She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow in the boy’s direction as a very small boy with sandy blond hair and big brown eyes squirmed and whined in her arms instead of the tiny blond corgi.

 

Portia met Paul’s eyes with a slow rise of an eyebrow. The silent reproof was enough to have him fidgeting under her gaze. He pushed Kimaya’s hands away and barrelled into the living room. As his footsteps’ echoes dimmed, Portia met Dean’s apologetic gaze with a wry smile.

 

“Sorry, Porsh. He’s new. I’ll talk to him. You okay with Teddy?” Dean asked.

 

She merely rolled her eyes at him. “I caught the little runaway, didn’t I? That was the hard part. He’ll be downstairs in time for dinner completely clean, _even behind the ears_ ,” she added, directing the last bit at the little boy in her arms with an edge of warning to her tone.

 

Teddy only whined louder, screaming to let him down, though his complaints were broken by bursts of laughter. The ruckus slowly faded, covered by the clip of high heels and distance as the twosome made their way upstairs.

 

Sighing, Dean ran his hand through his hair, then scrubbed his face. The low murmur of voices in the living room told him Lenny and Kimaya had beat him to Paul. A quick peek into the room showed him Kimaya holding Paul close as the little boy shook and pressed his palms to his temples. Lenny was crouched in front of them, smiling gently as he patted Paul’s knee and used his weirdly soothing voice to calm the panicking child down. Kimaya looked back at Dean and smiled encouragingly.

 

Dean squared his shoulders and walked into the room. Paul’s eyes stayed steadfastly glued to the floor, even when Dean squatted next to Lenny and rubbed the back of his neck.

 

“Hey, Paul, it’s okay. You’re not in trouble,” Dean said softly, leaning down to catch Paul’s elusive gaze. Paul glanced up at that, features twisted with disbelief at Dean’s words.

 

“Yeah, right. Even my Mom would of been angry at me for that. I shouldn’t have called… um.. that lady a freak,” Paul mumbled as his eyes darted away again, tone now colored in shame.

 

“Paul, I get it. Just a few days ago none of this was real. This is going to be ten different kinds of weird and crazy. You’re gonna say things you feel sorry about later, but as long as you know what you did was wrong _and apologize_ I’m sure Portia will forgive you. That’s the lady’s _name_ by the way, Portia,” Dean informed with him a small grin. “She’d probably love it that you called her lady. She is definitely that.”

 

Paul shifted a bit, eyes glancing around the three kind, smiling faces around him. Tension slowly bled out of his shoulders as he smiled tentatively at Dean.

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yup. No sweat. Kimaya and Lenny’ll take you upstairs to show you your room, anyways. You can apologize to Portia when she’s finished giving Teddy a bath,” Dean said easily, clapping Paul’s shoulder and getting to his feet with a barely suppressed groan. The Hunter’s life was catching up with him the more sedentary his life got, it seemed. Maybe after the holidays, he and Cas could go find a good, old-fashioned salt and burn.

 

\--

 

The heady aroma of dinner had kids and adults from all over the property rushing through getting cleaned up. Clanging and thuds came from the dining room as two teenaged boys argued (one cheerfully, the other much too seriously) and set the large wooden table with plates and flatware. Portia’s voice rang out clear and firm as Teddy scampered down the stairs followed by Kyle and Rita, laughing and barking (yeah, _barking_ even when on two feet instead of four; twins thought it was _high-_ larious). Portia herded the wild trio into the dining room as Lenny & Kimaya led Paul in at a much more sedate pace. The kid looked calmer, but still pretty twitchy. Timmy’s arrival was announced with a bang of the front door and racing footsteps to the dining room. His apologies were covered up with all the kids talking at once to fill in Timmy on _everything_ he’d missed that day.

 

With count off of kids completed, there was only one person left. When a roughly callused hand with a thin line of grease still under the fingernails entered Dean’s vision and grabbed a piece of bread, Dean’s shoulders automatically relaxed. Knowing his own whole family was finally all indoors and accounted for made the slow build of tension of the day melt entirely away. Long practice had him slapping Cas’ hand away from the garlic toast he’d tried to swipe.

 

“Dude, you can’t wait two seconds for it to get on the table?” Dean demanded, grinning, as he turned to see Cas scowling at him.

 

“Was it _your_ turn to spend the entire day in the freezing cold watching Diego and Patrick argue for hours while wielding _tools_? I think I deserve a piece of garlic bread without fighting for it,” Cas protested, reaching for another piece.

 

“You’ll fight for it like everyone else does, you big baby,” Dean laughed and slapped him away again. Cas scoffed, but picked up the jug of warm cider anyway. He stopped when Dean put his hand on his arm. “New kid’s here. Howard dropped him off less than an hour ago.”

 

Silently, Cas set the pitcher down and waited patiently for Dean to continue. With the way he leaned so lazily against the counter and kept his face blank, it looked kind of like he was uninterested. But really, the weird part was how _easy_ he made relaxing look. Dean still couldn’t believe how different _this_ Cas was compared to the Cas of nine years ago. Hell, even three years ago he still looked awkward and stiff half the time. Dean fiddled with the serving utensils and then leaned against the counter next to him so close that their hips brushed.

 

“He’s… well, what you’d expect,” Dean said with explosion of air past his lips. Cas raised his eyebrow.

 

“Pat or Lenny?”

 

“Like Pat,” Dean said easily and quickly. Cas nodded. From Sonny’s report of seven years ago, Patrick had come in angry and suspicious, ready to stab the first thing that moved and blame anything and everything for his dad running off and leaving him at Sonny’s, later in Dean’s care. Lenny had been withdrawn and quiet, even attempting to run away once, until somehow Lenny’d figured the best place for Lenny to be was right there on the farm. Both kids had come a long way in their own fashion, but Paul… Paul had that same poisonous, half-shell-shocked rage locked under his skin that Pat had had.

 

“A rugaru… we’ve never had a rugaru here, Dean. He’s going to have a lot of questions,” Castiel added softly. Dean reached over and clasped Cas’ shoulder and they shared a small, fleeting smile. “Any word from Sam?”

 

“He’s looking, but no go yet. A lot of Campbells went underground. Harder than a Man of Letters to find, nowadays. Charlie’s back from her last trip to fairy land till next summer, so we’re hoping for _something_ to be found by Christmas. We can’t let him know until Sam’s sure, though,” Dean pointed out. Cas nodded once.

 

A small shift had Cas so close he was one long line of heat down Dean’s side. That sneaky, bread-stealing hand wrapped around Dean’s hip, fingers pressed tight and firm. These moments, even with help from friends and family coming and going from the farm, were few and far between. Fingers traced the waistband of Dean’s jeans as they searched for skin and the dip of hipbone to stomach. Dean smirked at Cas and raised his eyebrow. Cas merely huffed and leaned the short distance over to press his lips to the hollow below Dean’s ear, the fucker. Cas had made it mission years ago to learn all the sweet spots on Dean’s body and never failed to use them against Dean whenever he wanted.

 

“You’re warm. It was _freezing_ out there,” Cas grumbled irritably. Dean laughed aloud and tilted his head to the side as rough, chapped lips brushed lower and Cas’ thumb smoothed over skin.

 

“Is that all I am, Cas? Should I be feeling objectified?” Dean joked, trying to get his own hand in the back pocket of Cas’ loose, wash-worn jeans.

 

“I know you two are enjoying yourselves in here, but if you leave me alone with your pack of demons any longer, I’ll curse you both,” Portia drawled from the doorway. Dean jumped guiltily, before collecting himself and throwing her a saucy smirk and wink.

 

“You’re just jealous,” he teased as Cas kept his hand exactly where it had been with no change of expression on his features. Well, maybe he looked a little annoyed if that glare in Portia’s direction was any indication. She rolled her eyes, completely unimpressed.

 

“No, what I am is _hungry_. I’m also two seconds from hanging three small children from the ceiling by their toes. I always think ‘Wow, I sure miss those Winchesters, why have I been gone for so long.’ Then I get here. And I remember,” Portia muttered darkly. She pulled on Dean’s discarded oven mitts and picking up the hot glass pan full of lasagna.

 

“Don’t lie, Porsh, you know you love it here. James is a total snoozefest compared to us,” Dean retorted. He nudged Cas with his shoulder, prompting the former angel to sigh in exasperation and move away. “Don’t whine, Cas. It’s tree-trimming tonight. Plenty of time to sneak away later.”

 

“I was enjoying myself now,” Cas said dryly, though he picked up the jug  and moved to follow Portia. He jumped a little as Dean’s hand firmly smacked his ass. The loud slap echoed in the room, making Portia laugh as she left the doorway. Cas glared over his shoulder to see Dean wiggling the offending appendages with a completely mischievous smirk on his face. “Was that a subtle request for punishment later?” Cas asked, before leaving the room with long-legged strides-- not to mention leaving Dean standing flabbergasted in the middle of the kitchen with slowly reddening ears and neck.

 

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered. He shook his head and gathered up the garlic bread and parmesan cheese-- the last of dinner.  With a deep, bracing breath, he threw himself into the warfare of his dining room.

 

The first ten or so minutes are a mishmash of yells, taunts, loud shrieks, and the general clangor of utensils on glass. Dean was sitting between the two chairs with large blue booster seats-- complete with “seatbelts”-- and made sure Kyle and Rita didn’t do anything crazy with their food. He could blame his inattention with Paul on the fact watching two 6 years old at the same time was exhausting. Normally, Cas would be covering Teddy, but Portia still had the small skinwalker under her eye, so the bastard had a free pass on his side of the table. Portia wouldn’t be at the farm much longer, so Dean knew she was getting as much time with the littlest of the bunch as she could. It wasn’t that Portia played favorites. It was just the fact that Teddy was a skinwalker, and as a familiar, they’d made an instant connection two years ago when Portia had first come to the Home. Cas had hypothesized it was probably the scent of Portia’s familiar form that made Teddy feel so safe around her. They’d discussed Teddy going home with Portia and James, but had yet to bring it up formally since the witch and familiar hadn’t done so themselves. Watching Portia patiently wipe Teddy’s face between messy, cheesy bites, however, had Dean thinking it again.

 

“Paul, you’re not eating. Have you already eaten?” Cas’ voice reached through the cacophony and had Dean looking up with a frown.

 

Sure enough, Paul was eyeing the tomato-y, oozy mess in the casserole dish with a rather grey face despite his naturally dark skin. The boy pressed his lips together tightly, glanced up into Cas’ patented-laser-gaze and then back down at his empty plate. The look on Kimaya’s face was approaching queasy as well, black eyes locked on the lasagna heaped on her plate. Ah. Dean hadn’t told Paul yet-

 

“Paul. It’s vegetarian,” Dean said, a little roughly. He didn’t want too many kids to ask questions and have the poor kid running for someplace to hide-- or a butcher knife. You’d be surprised how many “wayward kids” went for violence first (or, you know, _not_ ).

 

“What?” Paul managed to choke past what was probably bile in his throat. He met Dean’s eyes squarely, looking confused and sick.

 

“Vegetarian. No meat. Just tomatoes, carrots, broccoli, mushrooms, bunch of other rabbit food. No meat in the dinner at all,” Dean clarified, clearing his throat as he pulled his knife away from Rita’s grasping fingers.

 

“I knew it tasted funky,” Pat grumbled. He stabbed at his lasagna with a sulky frown.

 

“It tastes fantastic,” Lenny asserted firmly through a mouthful of cheese and pasta while slapping Pat upside the head. He then scooped up a helping of lasagna and put it on Paul’s plate, adding a big piece of garlic bread with a dramatic flourish.

 

Paul stared at the lasagna for a long moment, then slowly speared himself a forkful and took a bite. After the lack of vomit or spitting it back up, Dean grinned and turned back to Kyle, who was trying to pick all the bits of mushrooms out of his serving.

 

“So, Paul, I’m sure you have questions,” Portia prompted breaking her garlic bread into smaller bite-sized pieces.

 

Paul’s head came back up like a deer scenting wolves. Dark eyes, wide and nervous, darted to Dean in desperation.

 

“Paul, you don’t have to be scared of asking questions here,” Cas answered instead. Paul stared at him mutely, obviously still distrustful of Cas who he had just _seen_ for the first time less than ten minutes ago.

 

“He’s right, Paul. Go ahead. You can’t learn if you don’t ask,” Dean agreed. He cussed under his breath when Rita looked him dead in the eye and dropped her plastic fork.

 

“Uh… Ms. Portia, what- uh, why did you turn into dog?” Paul stammered awkwardly.

 

Portia chuckled lightly. “I’m a witch’s familiar. I prefer being a dog most of the time. I feel more comfortable that way.  Before you ask, Teddy is a skinwalker, not a familiar. Familiars need a witch to bond with, but skinwalkers can live just like a human, or an animal. Whichever one they choose,” Portia explained simply. Paul stared at her, looking lost. Portia smiled. “Here’s it a little easier. I was born with magic and it’s magic that makes me change from dog to human. Skinwalkers are more like werewolves. Being an animal and a human is something they’re born with, like having blue eyes or red hair.”

 

“Oh… okay. I think I get. I think,” Paul trailed off and frowning thoughtfully. “Are… are more of you- um… different?”

 

“We call ourselves Supers!” Lenny announced readily. Lenny rocked back on his chair’s back legs, grunting when Cas hooked the front rung with his foot under the table and pulled it back down.

 

“We tend to use the term supernatural creatures, which Lenny and Deegs decided should be shortened,” Cas told Paul. “Finish your dinner. That much cheese isn’t as good when cold.” Paul shovelled another huge mouthful down on autopilot, still staring at everyone.

 

“Hey, Supers is cool! Like heroes instead of monsters, you know? We ain’t bad guys, not unless we _want_ to be, just like regular people. I just got cooler teeth than you,” Deegs said as his wide, shiny grin suddenly filled with fangs. “Vamp. And I’m much cooler than those sparkly ones Kimaya likes to read about.”

 

“Oh hush and put the overbite back where it belongs,” Kimaya sniffed condescendingly.

 

“Yeah, Deegs, no scarin’ the newbies, what have I told you?” Dean snapped while thrusting his fork in the air towards Deegs. The teen winked and swigged back something from inside an opaque, plastic thermos. Paul stared at the thermos, suddenly horrified as it struck him what was probably inside. He hadn’t even noticed Deegs wasn’t eating.

 

“Don’t worry, kid, there aren’t only freakshows here. I’m human, through and through. My dad’s a Hunter. Been one since I was a kid. My mum got torn up by a werewolf, and my dad’s been huntin’ ever since,” the Hunter’s kid threw Deegs a dirty look as he spoke. Out of Paul’s sight line, Deegs smiled a bloody grin at Pat which, of course, made him grimace and throw a vulgar hand gesture. He yelped as Dean slapped the back of his head over Rita who sat between them.

 

“You’re just as much a freakshow, Pat. Your story is no less messed up than anyone else’s,” Dean growled warningly. Pat rolled his eyes, but turned back to his dinner with hunched shoulders and contrite expression.

 

“And you?” Paul asked Lenny.

 

“Shapeshifter. Coolest badass in the house, in other words,” Lenny joked. Paul just stared.

 

“Dean, do all your heathens have foul mouths?” Portia groaned wearily. Dean and Lenny both threw her a cheeky smirk.

 

“I can change into any person, really,” Lenny continued to explain to Paul as he shifted to meet him face to face. “I just need a touch, then my body can copy your DNA and I’ll look just like you. A lot of ‘shifters… they get a little crazy- go Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs, ya know- and start killing so they can take what we don’t have for ourselves, an identity, ya know? They want to be _people_ and they forget how on the way, that make sense? We’re just whoever we touch and without someone else’s skin, we’re literally _skinless_. I’m pretty awesome, but I’m an ugly motherfu- ugly mass of flesh without the help of some human DNA,” Lenny finished, winking towards a heavily frowning Portia at his verbal catch. Cas was currently glaring at Dean, his patented squinty one, clearly unamused by just _how bad_ Lenny’s vocabulary had gotten. Dean shrugged at him innocently, mouth full of cheesy pasta. Paul gaped at Lenny now, some pre-chewed lasagna almost falling from his mouth. Lenny closed the boy’s mouth gently.

 

“Who’re you wearing now?” Paul asked after swallowing and looking disgusted, horrified, and awed all at once.

 

“Well, that’s the cool part. An ole ‘shifter who never went nuts started messing around with the system. Take DNA from a small handful of people, mix it up and make yourself a new face. He’s been teaching me the ropes, but he gets a little frustrated since I don’t like sticking to one gender. Says it defeats the purpose,” Lenny laughed. “It’s really hard to do, so why not have fun with it?”

 

“There’s also a rule that you aren’t allowed to use DNA from within the household, but I noticed you’ve neglected it again,” Cas pointed out dryly. Lenny grinned wider as Dean narrowed his eyes at him. Green eyes, that looked _really_ familiar, widened. The faint freckles dotting Lenny’s face just proved it further.

 

“Son of a bitch, Sharlene Adrienne Tate! I said to stop using my DNA!” Dean exclaimed.

 

“Son of a bitch!” Rita parroted, Kyle echoing her with the shrill, self-conscious laugh of a child knowing they were doing something bad.

 

“Rita, Kyle, don’t curse,” Timmy said softly. Rita flushed hotly and pouted as Kyle squirmed. None of the kids liked it when Timmy used the “disappointed” voice. Not only was Timmy the oldest, with his own tragic background, but he was probably the smartest. Already accepted to NYU in their psychology and social work programs, Timmy was quiet, hard to anger, and grave. He was a lot like the little boy Dean had met more than eight years ago, just a little less scared and a lot more self-assured. He had a spine of steel under his calm, meek-ish exterior, much like Cas to people who didn’t know him well. Dean figured that was probably for a reason, since the two got on like Oreos and milk.

 

“At least Lenny isn’t using yours and Cas’ at once. That April Fools’ was… disturbing,” Timmy pointed out, mouth twitching at the corners as Dean shuddered visibly and Cas rubbed his forehead. Everyone else cackled and guffawed (which had some nasty food-spray consequences, but no one really noticed other than Kimaya who was too busy trying not to snort to care).

 

“We agreed _never_ to talk about that,” Dean ground out.

 

“Nah, you _wish_ we agreed to it. But we didn’t,” Deegs joked.

 

“Robin did send me pictures. You two would make a beautiful baby one day,” Portia teased, dark eyes lighting up as both men glared at her with murderous intent. All the kids were cackling again though, Lenny looking downright proud.

 

“I was thinking about going girl with it one day-”

 

“DON’T YOU DARE!” Dean snapped as he visibly recoiled in horror. The ensuing laughter had him cradling his head in hands and groaning.

 

“Please, don’t traumatise us further. We enjoy the illusion of having some control, Lenny,” Cas added rubbing his thumb against his temple while his forehead crumpled into a tight scowl.

 

“So, uh… Do I wanna know?” Paul asked, looking lost.

 

“I’ll show you pictures later, Paul,” Kimaya promised. Everyone ignored Dean’s loud protest and Cas’ low, resigned sigh.

 

“I am completely human, Paul,” Timmy told Paul under the roar of noise.Paul blinked and stared up at Timmy’s rueful smile. “I lost my mother when I was very young and she became a ghost to protect me,” Timmy shrugged. “It was a long time ago. Dean and his brother helped me.”

 

“Wait, so… Cas and Dean are brothers? I thought they were married?”

 

Both men choked, though Dean had to hurriedly grab a napkin as cider dribbled down his chin and from his nose. The rest of the table burst into laughter, Deegs laughing so hard he fell off his chair with a loud crash.

 

“Damn it,” Dean hissed.

 

“Sam, _Sam_ , is Dean’s brother, Paul. Dean and I are _not_ related by blood,” Cas explained swiftly when Portia proved too incapable of explaining through tears of laughter. “I was not always with Dean on hunts in those years.”

 

“Unca Sammy! Unca Sammy is coming? Today?” Teddy screeched as soon as he heard the name and actually slapping his spoon against the table in his excitement. Being five, he had been barely aware of the conversation happening until something of interest to _him_ was heard.

 

“No, Sam is in Kansas, Teddy,” Portia told him firmly. She was already wiping down the food splatter by the time he understood. Teddy whined in a very puppyish way and began to fiddle with the bits of broccoli and carrots he’d spat onto his plate.

 

“What about Kimaya? You’re… different, right?” Kimaya smiled enigmatically at Paul.

 

“Well, yes, I suppose I am. But I’m not a Super like Deegs, Lenny, or Teddy. Not really. What you see is what you get from me,” Kimaya told him reassuringly. “Same with Rita and Kyle.”

 

“Yeah, I wish I was a cool ‘walker like Teddy. Only, I’d be a cat one, cuz cats are mean and have claws, so they’re much cooler than dogs,” Rita said grumpily.

 

“I’d like to be a dog. Dogs are way cool,” Kyle demurred. He poked his bread at some tomato sauce. Dean sighed and wiped more tomato sauce off Kyle’s face. Unlike Rita, who would’ve squirmed and flailed, Kyle just let it happen without complaint.

 

“We believe Rita and Kyle were brought here for their safety, Paul, just like you,” Cas said softly. It was with that not unsubtle implication Cas told Paul that Rita and Kyle were orphans, or as good as, parents probably victims of a hunt not ended in time.

 

“Not like me,” Paul whispered, eyes on his plate. He shoved away from the table. “At least they aren’t monsters. All of you… you _Supers_ , with your cool tricks and powers and your _choices_. I don’t have one, all right? I’m born a monster, just like my dad was. And one day, I’m gonna go monster. I’m here so I can get killed before I do it, right?” Paul said low and quiet, looking up to meet Dean’s eyes. “ _Right?_ ” he all but shouted.

 

“Paul,” Dean started. Paul’s dark, anger-filled eyes flashed. Then, he was tearing out of the dining room. Dean was already his feet by the time Lenny and Kimaya’s chairs squeaked. Dean’s hands on the back of their chairs kept them in place.

 

“Kids, don’t worry about it this time. Make sure everyone does their evening chores so we can decorate the tree,” Dean said with a pat to both their heads. Kimaya and Lenny frowned in worry, but nodded. Dean met Cas’ blue gaze across the table. Without a word, Cas got up to follow him out after Paul.

 

“It’ll be done in no time,” Timmy reassured them as he got to his feet and reached for the nearest pan of leftovers (not that there was much).

 

“Well, how about we clean up? It’s a mess,” Portia said brightly, getting to her feet with Teddy already perched expertly on her hip. “Deegs, Patty, and Lenny, chop chop.”

 

\--

 

When Dean and Cas found him, Paul was sitting on the porch. His thin arms were clasped around his body and clutching at his elbows as he shivered and curled up near the porch railing. His eyes were locked on the distant, warm glow of the street light down the road. Between the porch and the light was just _snow_. A white, flat expanse of snow, broken by boot prints and tracks from the occasional vehicle-- the most recent obviously being Howard’s. The Impala was sitting comfy in the garage for the winter under a large canvas tarp. Instead, Dean and Cas shared the pickup Sonny had left them before he took off for retirement in Mexico (though he did reappear at random times and spend a weeks just re-living the life; last time Dean and Cas had a whole two week vacation in the Everglades, broken only by a hunt for a rawhead).

 

Dean dropped down by Paul on the top step with a grunt as Cas leaned against the post by Dean, knee pressing into his spine in a silent gesture of solidarity. Dean shrugged out of the coat he’d nabbed as they’d walked outside and dropped it over Paul’s huddled form.

 

“Kid, you ain’t a vamp. You need a jacket when it’s cold outside,” Dean admonished in a low, gruff voice.

 

Paul covered up a sniffle with his hand and tucked himself into the heavy, canvas garment. His eyes flashed in the darkness as he glared over at the two before looking back out at the snow. Stars glinted in the bruised-purple night sky and their breaths weaved through the air in front of them.

 

“I’m more a monster than even that. I saw… I saw my dad… when it happened,” Paul choked, breaking off and pulling the jacket around him even tighter.

 

“Paul, why don’t you tell us what happened? You can’t shock us and we’ll believe you. We know a lot more about this than you do and we want to help you,” Cas pointed out in his steady, gravel-rough voice. Maybe it was left over angel mojo, but that sort of tone always managed to calm down the most freaked-out kids.

 

Paul nodded and Dean leaned back against Cas’ leg, soaking the warm as much as he could. It was _really damn cold_ without his outermost layer.

 

“My dad was acting strange for days. Always hungry and asking Momma for seconds and thirds… He was sleeping on the couch and getting angry and sad all the time. Momma said it was work, that Christmas time was the worst for Dad, always was. I couldn’t remember… Dad ever being like that, though. They started fighting, I could hear from upstairs, fighting and yelling and Momma begging, ‘What’s wrong, tell me, you’re scaring, Paul, you’re scaring me,’ “ Paul’s voice broke slightly at that, before he steamrolled on. “And then they talked about me n’ Momma going away, staying with Gramma for Christmas while Dad had some time alone. Then… that… _that_ night, Momma was cooking dinner.”

 

Paul’s voice became thin and reedy, easily broken, as his thin fingers twisted together in his lap. Dean and Cas could both hear the rattle breath and loud gulp from Paul before he continued again, halting and quiet. “We were talking about what we’d do at Gramma’s... and how Dad was feeling better already. He was gonna meet us for New Year’s, we’d watch the Ball drop like we always did and…” Paul stopped, gasping for breath. His fingers dug into his jeans as his gasps shortened into small pants. Dean reached out and grasped Paul’s shoulder, a firm, heavy hand that startled Paul into the present and jerked the tears out from where he held them down.

 

“It’s okay, Paul,” Dean said gently. Paul let out a broken, angry sob.

 

“No, it isn’t! Momma caught her hand! That’s all! She was laughing at _my_ joke, something stupid, I don’t even remember, and then there was blood. It wasn’t even very much, but Dad got all stiff and wide-eyed and sweaty. He told us to leave, but Momma said no. Dad started yelling and then-” Paul stared up at Dean and Cas, chest heaving under the jacket, “he just _grabbed her_. Started sucking on her hand and _moaning_ like it was better than cake or pizza and Momma tried to push him off and then… Momma started screaming-”

 

Dean pulled Paul into hug as the words garbled together into loud, raucous sobs that had Paul’s whole body shuddering. Long, freezing cold minutes passed as Paul cried, cried until his breaths were coming out hard and painful and there weren’t anymore tears to shed. Not long ago, Cas had knelt beside them, one hand clasping Dean’s shoulder, the other rubbing Paul’s back without a word or sound. He’d come a long way from those days when crying children made him panic.

 

“I’m sorry for your loss, Paul,” Cas murmured softly when the sobs ebbed into small hiccups and gasps. In the dim light, Paul’s eyes were red and puffy as he glanced up at Cas.

 

“Wh-what?” Paul sniffled thickly.

 

“You lost your mother and father, Paul-” Cas began. Paul cut him off with an angry noise.

 

“My dad _ate her_ , he _ate my mom_!” Paul interrupted in a shrill, slightly hysterical voice. “He woulda eaten me, but I ran. I ran ‘cause my mom told me to and I kept running. My dad ate her and I left her! No one would believe me until more people started gettin’ eaten. My dad was a murderer! A _real monster_.”

 

“That doesn’t make him less your father all those years before what happened,” Cas pointed out. Paul shook so hard Dean tightened his grip on reflex. Paul’s eyes flew to Dean’s face when he cleared his throat.

 

“Paul, what happened was a mess. What your dad did, that’s real messed up and it’s gonna take a long time to move on from it. It’s probably going to be really hard to forgive him, no matter if he could’ve stopped himself or not. Even harder now that he’s gone, now they’re _both_ gone. I know how angry you are, and _it’s okay_ ,” Dean assured him.

 

“It’s also okay to admit how much you miss him,” Cas added, placing his hand on Paul’s dense, curly hair. “You lost so much. Your innocence, your mother _and_ your father, your home. You’re allowed to mourn and miss what you had. Whatever happened at the end, whatever he did, he was your _father_. It’s okay to be angry. It’s also okay to still love him.”

 

“But… but he was a _monster_. I can’t… you can’t love a _monster_ ,” Paul protested, though he was calmer, maybe even hopeful. Cas gave Paul one his rare smiles.

 

“That’s bullshit, Paul,” Cas replied. It was so blunt and deadpan, not to mention completely left field, it had both Paul and Dean laughing after a startled moment of silence. Paul laughed even harder and longer, part relief and maybe part hysterics as a few more tears squeezed from his eyes. “Love them both, miss them both. Be angry, sad, or laugh. It’s all okay.”

 

Paul nodded and rubbed at his running nose as he sniffed hard.

 

“Now, you ready to go in? The others are probably already in the living fixing up the tree. You’re lucky we left it late this year,” Dean joked, rubbing Paul’s arms through the thick layer of the coat.

 

Paul got to his feet, but hesitated once standing. He bit down on his lip, eyes darting to the window of the living room that was lit up with warm, yellow light just a short ways behind him. Both Dean and Cas stood, looking down at Paul expectantly. By this point, Dean’s jaw was clenched so tight it hurt to keep his teeth from chattering. It felt like every hair on his body was standing on end as tremors built up in his limbs. No way was he gonna cave now, not when he’d stuck it out this long already. Judging by the darting glance Cas shot towards him, he wasn’t fooling the ex-angel any.

 

“Whatcha waitin’ for, squirt?” Dean finally blurted. Paul jumped slightly, then rubbed his arms under the heavy coat, eyes fixed on the lit window.

 

“Do they know? About… me? My dad?” Paul whispered. Dean reached out to grasp Paul’s shoulder.

 

“That’s for _you_ to talk about, man. No way me or Cas would ever take that from you. You can tell them when you’re ready, or you can _never_ tell them. It’s all good,” Dean told him firmly. The boy swallowed, a loud, painful sound in the country silence. The horde inside hadn’t quite gotten to their usual riot-level of noise yet.

 

“Kimaya already knows. She… picks up on things. She also knows not to talk about what she picks up if it’s private and non-threatening to the group,” Cas added quickly, always one to be completely blunt and literal. The flinch that followed those words made both men’s mouths twist ruefully.

 

“But I am… dangerous… aren’t I? I could be just like my dad, right?”

 

Castiel sighed, bracing his open palm, warm and steady, to Dean’s lower back as they shared a long wordless look. “The Looks” had only increased with age and time, gaining more meaning and depth. Which was saying something, because Dean and Cas had always been a pair for heavy looks within a few seconds of being in the same empty barn for the first time.

 

“Paul, we won’t lie to you,” Cas finally began slowly, petering off. Dean was much better with bad news. Cas tended to come off too callous the majority of the time, especially with new kids (or people in general).

 

“Rugaru… it’s something passed down in the blood,” Dean said softly, regretfully. Paul’s breath sucked in sharply, sounding too much like more sobs for Dean’s comfort. He squeezed his hand on Paul’s shoulder. “But it won’t happen for years, Paul, if it ever does. There are people who never get twisted up. People can _resist_ it. It’ll probably be even better for you, because you understand. You _know_ your enemy and you can fight it.”

 

Paul’s mouth flattened.

 

“Me. My enemy’s _me_. Howard shoulda killed me, too,” he replied bitterly.

 

The noise Cas made sounded both angry and wrenched out painfully. “No, Paul. You’re a _boy_. A _child_. No child _deserves_ death,” Cas disagreed fiercely, eyes flashing blue as he crouched down to meet Paul’s eyes. The boy glared back at him mutinously, even as his bottom lip quivered. “You are not defined by blood, nor name, nor genetics. What you are is defined by your choices. Choose to be strong, Paul. Dean, myself, every person in this home we have built, we all are here to help you grow stronger. To believe in you every step of the way. It is up to you to define _your_ life. Give living a second chance.”

 

The quiet stretched between them, pregnant and wound tight with things said and unsaid. Slowly, Paul nodded, though he still looked confused and frightened, not quite comprehending all the advice Cas gave. His “okay” floated in the chilly air, punctuated with the slap of Dean’s numb hands together.

 

“All righty then,” Dean announced. “Time to get inside and go crazy with tinsel and glass balls. Best kinda fun, right? It’s colder than a yeti’s shaved ass out here. Inside, squirt, go on!”

 

Paul grimaced, but trudged inside. As soon as the door closed behind him, Dean sighed and rubbed his forehead. The tremors he’d held back shook his whole body, barely abating when Cas wrapped around him from behind, warm mouth brushing the nape of Dean’s neck.

 

“It’ll be alright, Dean,” Cas assured softly, branding the quiet words into skin.

 

“Yeah, he’s a good kid. I’d feel better if Sam comes up with good news, though,” Dean said as he sunk back against Cas’ chest, revelling in the heat and solid frame that held him up.

 

“We should go inside. Your temperature is dropping too low,” Cas murmured, lips still mouthing down the back of Dean’s neck. Dean hummed distractedly, smirking as fingers slipped between the waistband of his jeans and the hems of the three layers Dean had piled on that morning.

 

“Not really invested on that going inside idea, are ya, Casanova?” Dean joked pressing back into the dip of Cas’ pelvis and making him exhale sharply while clutching tighter over Dean’s hipbones.

 

“I think Portia and Timmy are more than capable of decorating a tree with all of them,” Cas agreed, his voice going to that impossibly lower, husky tone that never failed to get Dean’s blood moving.

 

Warm, callused fingers brushing over his stomach and up his ribs were a pleasant addition. Freezing air was following the wake of Cas’ hands up his clothes, and the thought of that big empty bed upstairs, where it was warm and comfortable, was sounding better and better, but Dean wasn’t stupid. He knew as soon as they stepped inside about a half dozen monsters (by definition or not) would be all over them. So they stayed in the dark and cold, shivering from more than the temperature, fingers slipping over skin and lips mapping over curves and angles, stealing moments and breaths. Inside, the sounds of their ever-growing and ebbing family grew louder. Shrieks and laughter, the sultry alto of Portia’s voice heavy with warning and amusement, the cracks and crunching of glass, all of it was _home_. A home Dean never saw coming.

 

\--

 

The week leading up to Christmas was a blur of motion and noise. Kimaya and Cas found out quickly how much they both enjoyed Christmas carols and subjected the entire house to playlist after playlist of the crap. Dean hadn’t even known there _were_ that many carols-- or maybe he’d blocked out the memory after Deegs had introduced Cas to Pandora last year. Damn brat. Timmy had taken charge of helping the exuberant younger kids (and Lenny who just loved chaos in general) decorate every spare fucking inch of the house. There were real pine branches and holly leaves in almost room, hell, even down the _hallways_. After the first three days of being mauled in doorways by children demanding kisses (damn Kimaya for bringing _mistletoe_ into the house), Dean had taken to hunting the shit out and burning every damn twig of it in the early hours of the morning before making breakfast. Portia had Teddy and the twins dressed in terrifyingly hideous holiday sweaters, a different one _every fucking day_. Jingle bells were placed on every door and window, wreaths hung wherever they could fit.

 

Every Christmas the kids re-decorated their stockings in a sort of “bonding” thing for any new kid. Dean was still finding smears of glitter glue in strange places and confetti in the rugs and cracks of hardwood. Robin had come by for her weekly guitar lessons (giving Portia, the lucky bastard, a reprieve for most the day), and had the kids giving an impromptu Christmas concert by pounding any surface like drums and air-strumming all through dinner. Cas, the traitorous asshat, had even joined in. The day before Christmas Eve James had finally shown up to take Portia back up to Chicago. Of course, before he left, he’d indulged Dean’s already spoiled pack with magic like he did every Christmas since they’d renewed contact.

 

Last year, James had turned all the ornaments on the tree into candies or singing automatons. This year, he had snow falling from the ceiling, warm snow that melted into sugar when caught on waiting, outstretched tongues. Tiny, faerie-like lights danced through the house, teasing the youngest children into chasing them through the hallways and disappearing just as grubby little hands curled around them.

 

Portia and James had stayed well after the brood had settled down for the night. The four adults had spent the late hours discussing quietly the idea of the couple adopting Teddy while sipping on hot cocoa that never emptied or got cold. All the while those fucking fake pixies darted around the house. The two of them left somewhere around one in the morning, promising to seriously consider the idea and be back sometime around Easter. By the look on Portia’s face, Dean was counting on them coming with suitcases and a kid’s seat in the back of James’ stylish, hybrid Chrysler.

 

That morning brought the best gift of all though.

 

Just as the French toast was placed in the center of the dining room table, steaming and filling the whole house with the smell of cinnamon and maple syrup, the front door swung open. Deegs, Lenny, and Teddy all sniffed the air while Kimaya calmly collected the best slices, dark eyes twinkling.

 

“Hey, where’d everybody go?” called out a deep, familiar, male voice.

 

“UNCLE SAMMY!” about six voices screamed. The twins and Teddy almost tipped over onto the floor in an effort to get out of their constricting chairs, the oldest boys streaming from the room to take advantage of children’s delay. Paul, Timmy, and Kimaya stayed at the table, though Paul looked absolutely bewildered. The children let out whoops and shrieks when Cas and Dean finally let them down, racing out of the room while the two men followed.

 

Sam was standing in the middle of the hallway, flushed from cold and laughing. He’d barely managed to take off his biggest parka and scarf before being attacked. Teddy was literally jumping at his knees, in his excitement having shifted. Lenny, now a pig-tailed, red-headed girl who looked about 12 with Cas’ blue eyes (the little shit) was hanging off Sam’s broad back, feet dangling a good foot off the ground. The twins were wrapped around his legs, parking their butts right on his snow-damp boots and refusing to let go. Another cold burst of air and Kevin, along with Charlie, stumbled into the foyer. Both Deegs and Pat were right behind them, loaded down with luggage and brightly wrapped presents for the tree.

 

“It’s colder than Hoth out there. Am I going to need a tauntaun to cut open?” Charlie exclaimed.

 

“Or you could just stay inside,” Dean retorted, dragging the diminutive woman into his arms and squeezing her tight. “Hey, your majesty.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I missed ya, too,” Charlie laughed, squeezing back just as tightly. “I hear from Sam you’ve got a new duckling.”

 

“Yeah, his name’s Paul. Go get some breakfast before it gets cold. He’s in there,” Dean said, stepping back. Charlie gave him a quick salute, before shedding out of her layers and throwing them on Pat’s head. She bouncing into the dining room amid cries of welcome just seconds later.

 

“Wow, Cas, the house looks amazing!” Sam whistled.

 

“Are those _real_ fairies? I thought fairies looked like Gilda?” Kevin blurted, going cross-eyed as a little ball of pink light bounced against his forehead and darted away.

 

“James, the dickhead,” Dean grumbled, grabbing Lenny around the waist and hauling the tiny body off Sam so he could get out of his layers. “Go eat, brat.”

 

“Aw, come on, Sam don’t care,” Lenny whined. Dean gave Lenny a _look_ , which made Lenny stick out her tongue and run away laughing.

 

“HEY! You were supposed to take the leeches with you!”

 

“It’s okay, Dean. I got ‘em,” Sam said quickly. With his layers off, he’d caught that spastic little corgi and tucked him under his arm. Sam grinned as he walked towards the doors, causing the twins to shriek when Sam didn’t shake them off, just carried them on his boots to the dining room.

 

“Who’s watching the Letters’ bunker if all three of you are here?” Cas was asking Kevin. Deegs and Pat were stomping down the stairs and arguing over sleeping arrangements. Dean busied himself picking up all the extra layers and hanging them in the closet. The faster everything got cleaned up, the faster he could eat his own damn French toast.

 

“We have a guy from England watching it. More groups around the world are contacting us, and not only via technology. The guy’s name is Brenden Davies and he’s totally ancient,” Kevin explained, sounding a little overwhelmed. “He says the Men of Letters have been an organization since the _1300’s_ , can you believe that? Before that, there were smaller groups that did the work of the Men of Letters, they just weren’t as organized.”

 

“I’m glad that the network is building. The more who can fight, and help fight, the better,” Cas said in his quietly earnest voice.

 

“Yeah, yeah, how about we talk about it _after_ breakfast. Come on. We’ll be lucky if there’s any left after the Sasquatch attacks.” Dean walked past them both, sneaking a finger through Cas’ belt loop as he did to drag him down the hall. He wasn’t sure Cas and Kevin _wouldn’t_ stay and chat in the hallway like nerds. Cas tended to forget to eat if he was distracted.

 

Breakfast ended up being a chaotic mess, with Paul quietly lost in the middle of it. Dean caught Sam gazing in the young boy’s direction a few times, brows furrowed in thought. Paul had gotten more and more withdrawn over the week. He wasn’t exactly… _in the depths of despair_ , but he was definitely grieving. Deegs had told Dean just yesterday that Paul had been waking up in the middle of the night, sometimes crying and muttering in his sleep. After what he’d seen, Dean wasn’t too surprised, but there wasn’t too much Dean or Cas could do. During the day, Paul was usually pulled under Lenny or Kimaya’s wing. Between the two of them, Paul was constantly busy with miscellaneous chores and decorating. It was a good tactic, but Paul was only a kid with Christmas looming just days after his parents’ gruesome deaths. He was bound to be reclusive. Sam’s stupidly expressive face was doing that strange “something is too precious for this world” thing every time he looked over. Kevin was discussing with Timmy his upcoming last semester of high school and graduation while Charlie goofed off with Lenny and the twins. She easily had the energy to keep up with the trio that Dean barely managed to scrape up day-to-day.

 

After breakfast, Paul’s turn was up, as well as Deegs’, to wash dishes. The rest of the kids also scattering to do their own chores. Most of them were babbling excitedly about going into town for some last minute shopping with Timmy and seeing the Christmas Tree Lane Wonderland thing, though Deegs was more concerned with making gingerbread houses after dinner. It was something he’d bugged Dean to do since friggin’ Independence Day and he hadn’t had a choice but to give in.

 

“Hey, Deegs, go ahead and help Pat and Kimaya shovel the snow. I’m going to help out Paul with dishes,” Sam said suddenly, slapping Deegs’ shoulder. Deegs shot a look at Cas, the real rule enforcer around the house, no matter how much Dean blustered and tried to convince himself otherwise. Cas shrugged and walked into the pantry, Lenny on his heels.

 

“Yeah, sweet!” Deegs exclaimed as soon as he got Cas’ wordless okay. “Shovelin’s harder, but at least I can accidentally hit Pat with a shovel.”

 

“Like it’d actually hurt with your girly little arms swinging it,” Pat shot back from the foyer.

 

“Excuse you, Pat. I seem to remember my _girly little arms_ swinging a punch so fast in your gut you almost vomited last month. You wanna repeat that?” Kimaya retorted, using said girly fist to pound into his shoulder. The teenaged Hunter-kid winced in actual pain.

 

“Fine, fine. Wimpy. Wimpy’s good, right?”

 

Kimaya glared around him with a squinty frown a lot like Cas’, before she turned heel and stormed out the door. “We’ll see _girly little arms_ when I knock your asses out.”

 

Sam retreated to the kitchen chuckling as both Deegs and Pat argued their way out the door. The sudden screams had Dean laughing upstairs. A window was flung open as the younger kids and what sounded like Charlie leaned out and whooped encouragements down at Kimaya apparently doing some major damage to the boys’ egos out in the snow. Paul, nonplussed and uncaring, was already filling the sink with steaming hot water and soap when Sam reached the boy’s side.

 

“If I told you to leave me alone, would you?” Paul muttered darkly, grabbing the cup brush.

 

“No, probably not. I won’t talk about it, however, if you don’t want to,” Sam said easily, grabbing a sponge and a plate to get started. “Do you like it here? It’s… something to get used to after being just a normal kid for eight years, right?”

 

Paul snorted and rolled his eyes, supremely unimpressed by Sam’s observation. The sound of Kevin clacking away at the computer keys in the dining room and Timmy murmuring to him was the only sound accompaniment to the dishes for a long while. Sam moved to drying dishes to make room for the bigger pots and pans left from cooking just as Cas and Lenny began an argument, loudly, about cinnamon versus nutmeg.

 

“I like it,” Paul said quietly, placing a soapy pan in the empty half of sink to be rinsed. Sam carefully kept his mouth shut, waiting patiently. “They… don’t really know why I’m here except for Dean ‘n Cas. Kim might know, but she doesn’t act like it. But they’re all really nice. None of ‘em ask me questions. At night, Kyle sneaks in to sleep with me. I think I wake him up, cuz I remember… I remember the bad dreams,” Paul’s voice shuttered off, thick and low for such a small boy. “I miss my mom... and my dad. I miss them all the time. But everyone here _knows_ about that. They miss someone, too, right? All of them miss somebody.”

 

Sam laid his hand, luckily no longer quite damp, on Paul’s shoulder. “You’re right. Everyone here knows what it’s like to miss someone. We all want to help, too, whenever you’re ready.”

 

“Momma… Mom would of said you’re ‘good folk.’ She would of told me to say ‘thank you,’ too,” Paul whispered.

 

“Your mom would’ve been right, Paul. There’s a lot of good people here. Do you think you can be okay here? If it’s too much, there’s a few other families around the country that would adopt you, no matter what happened to you,” Sam offered in his gentlest, soothing tone. The kind that got victims of monsters to trust him whatever guise he adopted.

 

“Would they know… about my dad?” Paul asked, shoulders hunching up high and tight around his ears. Another pan made it to the rinse pile.

 

“We could tell them, if you wanted us to,” Sam answered. He let go and reached down to start rinsing.

 

“Maybe… I should stay. I mean… at least I’m not the only monster here,” Paul said, shrugging with obviously fake nonchalance.

 

“Hey! Who you callin’ monsters?” Lenny exclaimed as she and Cas popped out of the pantry. “We’re _Supers_ , little dude,” Lenny added with a wink and a noogie to Paul’s head as Lenny bounced past.

 

Paul’s mouth twitched upwards. “Yeah, right. Super.”

 

“Sam, Paul, thank you for the dishes. Lenny and I need the space to start on dinner, however. There so many people, we need to get started preparing as early as possible. So go and do something else,” Cas said bluntly, spreading out an armful of… _everything_ on the counter. Sam stared at Cas, face turning grey and dismayed.

 

“You’re… _you’re_ cooking?” Sam choked out. The look on Cas’ face looked capable of starting a fire. Specifically, setting _Sam_ on fire.

 

“Get out.”

 

“Fine, but I’m sending down Dean!” Sam called back as long legs carried him out of the room in seconds. Lenny and Paul snickered at Cas’ put upon sigh.

 

\--

 

Dean _did_ end up making dinner. Cas really wasn’t as bad as Sam remembered, but Dean was still better. Deegs ended up joining the three of them in the kitchen while the rest of the horde piled out the front doors, looking forward to the town visit and Christmas lights. At the last minute, Lenny left with them, leaving Charlie in Lenny’s place in the kitchen.

 

Charlie was only allowed to watch the soup to keep it from burning or sticking to the pot _after_ Cas had made sure everything was already mixed in properly. If anyone would have been able to mess up _soup_ , Charlie would have. Even though she’d lived alone for years, she’d never put the effort into cooking her own food _well_. She’d regaled them with tales of conning restaurants into giving her free food in her late teen years and later, when an adult, she just ordered it or cooked really simple, microwaveable meals.

 

Christmas Eve dinner was simple lentil soup and grilled chicken sandwiches, most of the food being prepared going towards the Christmas dinner the next day. When the family finally surged their way through the front door, pink-cheeked, laughing, and dusted with new snow, Christmas carols were blasting through every speaker in the house. Sam and Kimaya teased Dean all through dinner after catching him dancing and singing along to music he vehemently declared to hate. After the meal, every kid was given enough gingerbread to make houses-- the gingerbread men and house-pieces having been made the night before.

 

The best part was how competitive Dean and Deegs got in making their houses, constantly stealing “building” materials and snarking at each other. Dean had sat at the dining table covered in sugar and frosting and elbow to elbow with Rita, Paul, and Charlie as they frowned their way through making a small, believable looking _castle_. Dean had even pulled out mint, waxed floss to make a _drawbridge_. Timmy, Kevin, and Kyle group together to make the most pathetically adorable and lopsided house, while Cas teamed with Pat and Lenny, and Kimaya with Deegs. Sam was delegated to Teddy duty, making sure he didn’t eat too much of the sugar. In the end, the two of them were passed out on the floor in the living room while the TV played a Christmas movie marathon of the old clay-mation classics, like _Rudolph_ and _Santa Claus is Coming to Town_.

 

It was about midnight before Rita and Kyle set out cookies for Santa (plus some carrots for the reindeer) and bullied a still half-asleep Sam with an armful of Teddy up the stairs.

 

“So, let’s see if we got the sleeping arrangements right, Charlie is up stairs with Kimaya in the nursery. Sam is taking the only guest room?”

 

“Yeah, I’m totally cool taking the couch,” Kevin agreed with a yawn.

 

“NO!” Rita screeched, latching onto Kevin’s arm and throwing her entire weight into it. Poor Kevin almost fell to the ground, barely holding up with a loud, surprised grunt.

 

“What is it?” Kevin exclaimed, quickly kneeling for balance. Kyle took the opportunity to wind himself into Kevin’s personal bubble and wrap around his torso.

 

“Santa Claus,” the twins whispered very loudly.

 

“What?” Dean asked staring down at them in confusion.

 

“If Kevin’s in the living room, Santa won’t come!” Kyle explained as if talking to an idiot as he squeezed Kevin even tighter. Charlie pressed her lips together as her shoulders shook as she tried not to laugh behind Dean’s back.

 

“What if he comes and he’s a Santa monster that _eats_ people? So we won’t get presents _or_ Kevin will get ate! Krissy tole us at Thanksgiving about the _bad_ Santas!” Rita added shrilly. “Kevin, Kevin, sleep with _us_.” Rita begged, hazel eyes big and shining with tears.

 

“Uh… are there really Santas that eat people?” Kevin replied dumbly, tone slightly horrified.

 

“Oh yeah, there are a lot of ‘em,” Dean sighed, running his hand through his hair. Cas placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and they shared a _look_ , both of them obviously trying not to laugh.

 

“Rita, Kyle, there’s no meadowsweet to tempt any of the bad Santas. However, if it’ll make you feel better, Kevin can sleep with Kyle, and Rita, you’ll have to sleep with Lenny. There’s not enough room otherwise,” Cas suggested diplomatically. Rita pouted from where she hung onto Kevin’s arm.

 

“You okay with bunking with all _fine_ ladies?” Charlie asked, slapping Kevin’s back so hard the thump almost echoed. Kevin glared up at her.

 

“You mean the _lesbian_ and the _jailbait_?” Kevin retorted.

 

Charlie smirked. “There’s about a half dozen R-rat-”

 

“HOW ABOUT we don’t finish that sentence and go to bed,” Dean interrupted Charlie loudly, grabbing her and swinging her towards the doorway.

 

“Darn, forgot about the little ears,” Charlie teased, making Dean snort derisively.

 

“Wait, what was she gonna say?” Lenny asked curiously.

 

“You don’t need to know, _chica_ ,” Deegs said seriously, though his mouth twitched upwards as he spoke.

 

“Like you’d know, you’re still prepubescent, bloodsucker,” Pat sneered as he past. There was a loud thud and yelp as Pat went flailing into the hallway.

 

“Oops,” Kimaya sang breezily, jumping over Pat’s prone form and bounding up the stairs. Lenny and Deegs followed her much more loudly and with less grace, as they cackled and “accidentally” knocked their toes against Pat’s ribs. Timmy helped Pat up, murmuring gentle admonitions at Pat after he was sure the kid was alright.

 

“One day, he’ll learn better,” Dean sighed. Cas brushed a kiss over Dean’s jaw as he walked past, Kyle slung sleepily over one shoulder.

 

“See you upstairs,” the former angel said, casting his gaze behind Dean meaningfully. Dean watched him climb up the staircase behind Kevin and Charlie, who were hauling Rita up between them.

 

Dean scrubbed his hand over his face and turned to find Paul, like he’d thought. He was standing by the fireplace, staring at the bright blue and gold stocking Kimaya had persuaded him into decorating.

 

“Hey, squirt, faster you go to sleep, the faster Santa comes.”

 

“Every year my dad dressed up like Santa and snuck into my room to give me a present. I knew it, but it was fun anyway. Guess Santa really does eat people, huh,” Paul said emotionlessly. Dean bit back a groan. He hadn’t even thought about steering the conversation away from the topic earlier. He should’ve seen this coming. Inwardly cursing his lack of forethought, Dean scrambled for an idea to get Paul’s mind off Santas and eating people. Not a happy thought for a kid of eight on _Christmas._ The last thing Dean wanted was Paul to have nightmares _tonight_.

 

“All right, kiddo. Let’s go.”

 

Paul squeaked in shock as Dean hauled him up and flung him over a shoulder, mimicking Cas and Kyle’s same positions earlier.

 

“What are you doing!? Put me down! I’m not a baby!”

 

“Yeah yeah. Well, you’re going to come with me anyway,” Dean said grimly. Paul went still as Dean stomped to the front door. He grabbed a couple jackets as he passed the rack.

 

Outside it was even colder than the last time Dean was out without enough layers. The single streetlamp was too far away to light up the yard very well. Though the lights Dean, Timmy, and Deegs had put up were flashing merrily, lighting the falling snowflakes up like the fake faeries that streamed out of the door in Dean’s wake. With a loud grunt, Dean flung Paul over his shoulder into the snow. Paul screamed, arms and legs flailing, before he landed with a soft thwump, snow flying in every direction.

 

“Are you _crazy!?”_ Paul shrieked as he popped back up, coughing and spluttering and shivering. He hollered again as a heavy coat, that was probably Sam’s by how _big_ it was, landed on top of him.

 

“There’s a coat, wimp. You have exactly two seconds to build up some ammo before the snowfight starts,” Dean called over with breath streaming in the night air as he shrugged his own coat on.

 

“No way! I’m going inside!” Paul yelled back through chattering teeth. He’d just managed to stand up straight, the coat still awkwardly hanging on him, when a snowball collided with his shoulder. “Hey!” Paul glanced up to see Dean by the porch, hands full of snow and grinning in the kaleidoscope of Christmas lights overhead.

 

“Start running, squirt.”

 

“You’re _so crazy!”_ Paul hollered again, half-laughing as he went tripping and sliding over the snow, hands lost in the folds of Sam’s coat. He shrieked, full-blown laughing now, as a snowball slammed into his back and sent him hurtling forward. “No fair! Time! Time out!”

 

“No way, war’s a bitc-Yow! Oh come on, Cas!”

 

Paul looked over his shoulder to see Cas smirking as he ran past Dean towards Paul. Dean was too busy trying to dig snow out from under his shirt collar to follow, obviously cussing under his breath.

 

Cas had Paul by the arm and running him over a foot of snow before Paul could figure out what happened.

 

“The cavalry is coming. Run for it,” Cas said, grinning. Paul ran with him as shrills screams of about a half-dozen children, Charlie, and Kevin streamed from the house, all wearing a mixture of pjs and coats and rainboots.

 

“Oh hell no!” Dean’s protest was muffled a second later as snowballs and bodies collided with him.

 

The snow itself was soft and powdery with a thin layer of ice on top that crunched and cracked over the dozens of feet that ran in every direction. Everyone was laughing and screaming. Snowballs flew through air, most of them falling apart as they soared greater distances and bursting over faces and jackets when they hit their targets. Dean had teamed up with Kimaya and Lenny and used the very effective method of lifting up the smaller human beings and flinging them through the air once caught. (Rita, especially, loved that maneuver, and let herself get caught multiple times.) That is, until Sam showed up, ran straight for his brother, and sent him flying into the snow, looking like a Wookie and Abominable Snowman and really excited little kid all at once.

 

Cas kept Paul near him, feeding him tightly packed snowballs and hauling him over really deep drifts of snow. It was the most fun Paul had had in a long time. He was laughing so hard his chest hurt. Even his face hurt. Tears streaked down his cheeks, melting ice and snow, but he laughed the whole time, gasping and wheezing and clinging tightly to Cas.

 

Whatever he was, whatever he would be, and whatever had happened before, these wackos were taking Paul in as family and they wouldn’t let him down.

 

\--

 

Dean was tiptoeing out of the dormitory-ish room hours later, still grinning and red-faced. The littlest had already passed out, some while still drinking the cocoa Dean and Cas had made after the Epic Snow War of 2021. Paul had passed out with Kyle wrapped around him like a koala bear, an exhausted half-smile on his face. From the bathroom were the quiet, shuffling sounds of Sam getting ready for bed. Cas was waiting in the hallway, holding two mugs and smiling faintly.

 

“They’re all mostly asleep now.”

 

“Like the dead. Only, you know, the kinda dead that don’t come back to life,” Dean joked grabbing the mug Cas held out. Cas rolled his eyes, which only made Dean wink at him.

 

They headed down to their room, sipping at the last batch of cocoa. In the warm dark, they both sat at the head of bed, leaning against the wall and drinking quietly, arms and thighs pressed close, and not just for the body heat.

 

“I take it Sam had positive news.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Cas hummed around the rim of his mug. Blue eyes darted to Dean’s profile in the dark, an eyebrow raising as he waited. Dean groaned.

 

“You know exactly why I didn’t tell Paul.”

 

“You wanted him to feel accepted _without_ the cure, but for himself.”

 

“Why do you have to say it out loud if we both know?” Dean grumbled, slurping the dregs of his cocoa.

 

“Just admit you’re a good man, Dean,” Cas prodded with a smirk in his voice.

 

“Yeah, fuck you.”

 

“I suppose we could dredge up the energy for a quickie…” Cas mused, tone falsely serious. Dean burst out laughing and knocked into Cas’ shoulder.

 

“We still have to dress up our visiting moose as Santa. We’ll be lucky for four hours of sleep,” Dean pointed out, mouth still curved up as he took Cas’ mug and set it with his on the nightstand.

 

Cas wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist once the mugs were safely put aside. “Alas, the neverending work of parents,” Cas joked sleepily as he tugged Dean down into the warmth of their huge, memory foam mattress. Seconds later, Cas had the heavy comforter pulled over them and tucked close to their bodies.

 

“It ain’t so bad,” Dean muttered. He long ago got over being “the little spoon.” If Cas would rather let _his_ arm go numb under Dean’s head, Dean wasn’t gonna be the one to stop him.

 

It wasn’t really because Dean liked it _that_ much. Maybe.

 

Cas brushed his lips over the back of Dean’s neck, his arm tightening slightly around his middle, as his hand searched- and found- Dean’s. The kitschy dork had their fingers entwined and pressed against Dean’s lower belly like he did almost every night. Dean’s thumb unconsciously stroked the slight webbing between index finger and thumb of Cas’ hand.

 

“No real complaints,” Cas agreed easily, his nose pressed to the short hairs at the back of Dean’s neck.  “Happy Christmas, Dean.”

 

“It’s Merry Christmas, dumbass.”

 

“Shut up and go to sleep.””

 

\--

 

That morning was even more chaotic than the day before. Dean and Cas stared in on the mayhem bleary-eyed and tousled, but looking far too content for the amount of sleep they _didn’t_ get. They nursed hot coffee and let the other adults, who were shiny and fun with novelty for the young kids, take the reins. Wrapping paper was _everywhere_ , as well as stick on bows, tissue paper, _glitter where the fuck did that come from_ , ribbons, empty boxes, and half-torn bags (did they really have to tear the _gift bags_. They were _open on top_ for fuck’s sake). Candy wrappers and small toys were scattered amongst it all from the stockings Sam had stuffed in the wee hours of the morning dressed as a giant Santa. He’d made sure to sneak by the kids’ room so Rita and Kyle could catch a glimpse of him through sleep-blurred eyes (Teddy didn’t wake up before sun-up even if there was a tornado right outside). The twins had passed out again right afterwards, but they were wild about it when they woke up again, waking up the whole house with their screams as they’d raced downstairs and found the cookies and veggies gone.

 

Most of the kids were already wearing thick, knitted sweaters. They were all different colors with the first letter of each one’s name stitched on the front. Dean was shaking his head, knowing exactly which Queen of Moondoor had managed fan-themed Christmas gifts. How she’d managed to bag one for Paul in time probably had something to do with the _very magical_ fairy of a girlfriend Charlie had been reunited with a year or so back. Fucking fairies. He’d have to send her a strawberry pie or something.

 

There were flashing lights and whirrs of mechanical toys, as well as occasional shrieks of delight. Amidst the noise and games, Paul took his last gift from Timmy. Inside the simple snowflake-decorated bag was a shit ton of red tissue paper which hide a beautiful blue velvet bag at the bottom. Inside was a small vial filled with dark amber liquid. The little boy’s brows furrowed tightly in confusion.

 

“Uh… what is this?”

 

“Yours,” Dean quipped. Paul glared up at him, clearly unimpressed.

 

“It’s medicine, Paul,” Cas said quietly. Slowly, those dark brows unbeetled and lifted up high, eyes widening and mouth gaping.

 

“M-Medicine?” Paul choked. Cas nodded and Dean just grinned.

 

“It’s from the Men of Letters-”

 

“ _People of Letters_ ,” Charlie trilled, waving the hand-crafted wand Dean had made himself for her. The dark purple witch’s hat covered in silver stars and moons purchased by Pat (who seemed to have a little crush on the expert hacker) was perched precariously on her bright red hair.

 

“Right, the _People of Letters_ know about what happened,” Sam continued, otherwise ignoring the interruption. “We’ve been searching through a lot of really old books for the past couple weeks, ever since we heard about your dad. We’ve been searching since _before_ then, but we made it top priority. A contact from the Campbell family, mine and Dean’s family, finally sent us _this_ just a few days ago. If you take three drops of this every month, in tea or anything _not_ soda, until it all runs out, you’ll never have to worry about your condition again.”

 

Paul stared at the little bottle in his palm, throat and mouth dry.

 

Dean stepped forward and squatted next to Paul. He reached out and wrapped his large hand around Paul’s, curling the boy’s fingers over the bottle.

 

“Paul, what happened to your family wasn’t fair. A lot of shit happens to really good people and it just ain’t fair,” Dean started, voice rough.

 

Paul stared up at him, still awed and flustered. Dean’s mouth quirked up slightly.

 

“But sometimes good things do happen,” Dean outright grinned at that, flicking his eyes up to Cas briefly. Cas’ smile flashed, remembering himself the moment those words were spoken. “This won’t erase the past, but maybe it’ll give you a future you’re not scared of. You don’t have to take this now, hell, you don’t have to take it _ever_. You’re welcome here, and we’ll always be here to help you if you need it, if you’re scared, or worried. But you’re just a kid and you deserve this chance. So, you take good care of this, and think about it, and do whatever you want with it once you have. Whatever choice you make, it’s up to you, Paul,” Dean told him firmly.

 

The younger kids weren’t paying attention, too wrapped up in their own toys and gifts. The older kids, however, were doing their best to _pretend_ not to listen to Paul and Dean talking. After a few, loaded moments of silence, Paul cleared his throat. He cleared it again and met Dean’s eyes. He glanced towards Sam and Cas, then back to Dean, mouth quivering.

 

“It’ll work?” Paul whispered.

 

“Hey, if Sammy says so, then yeah. Sammy knows his shit.”

 

“Language, Dean,” Cas sighed resignedly.

 

“Can I…” Paul stopped and swallowed painfully. He rubbed at his face and Dean clapped his hand on Paul’s shoulder, rubbing slightly as Paul clearly tried to keep himself together, small as he was. “Can I leave it with you?” he finally croaked. Dean blinked, surprised.

 

“Yeah? Ya sure, squirt?”

 

“Yeah. I mean, maybe… when I’m older, I’ll think about it again. But maybe… maybe I can just be myself and it’ll be okay?” Paul asked, his small voice pitching upwards in question.

 

“That’s what everyone in this house is. Just themselves. We’ll watch out for you, promise,” Dean vowed as he took the bottle Paul handed him with a shaking hand. Dean shook it back into the velvet bag and handed it up to Cas, who promptly slipped from the room.

 

“Thanks,” Paul muttered.

 

“No problem, kiddo. Now play with the real toys and eat some of your candy before Deegs snags it behind your back,” Dean ordered, voice a little off.

 

Paul nodded, scrubbing his face one more time, before throwing himself back into the thick of the mayhem. There was something lighter in the way he held himself as he played with Kyle and Rita, as if that little bottle and the choice Dean let him have made it easier for him to breathe. The four teenagers joined the group on the floor, helping put in batteries and opening child-safe packages. If Kimaya and Lenny gave Paul a few more hugs, and Pat and Deegs a few extra pats to the back, well, it was Christmas after all. Dean caught Paul’s eye for a moment. A shy smile had Dean grinning back before the contact broke naturally.

 

Dean looked up to see Sam, Kevin, and Charlie gazing back at him, all smiling and shiny-eyed.

 

“Aw, come on. I’m gonna be sick with all of you giving me looks like that. Take it outside, Samantha,” Dean grumbled.

 

“Yeah right. Like you’re not about to lose it yourself, _Deanna_ ,” Sam scoffed, shoving at Dean’s shoulder and knocking him off his heels onto his butt.

 

“Don’t worry, Dean. We already know your big bad secret,” Charlie taunted, her voice still thick with unshed tears.

 

“Pfft, what. I don’t have a big bad secret.”

 

“That you’re really cheesier than a Hot Pocket on the inside,” Cas said dryly as he stepped back into the living room.

 

The adults stared at him. Cas merely gazed back, bemused. Suddenly, all four _natively human_ adults doubled over as they outright guffawed. Cas grew even more bewildered.

 

“ _Cheesier than a what_?” Kevin gasped.

 

“Cheesy is the correct term. I know this for a fact. I’ve been human for five years, I think I understand basic English slang,” Cas protested with an irritated scowl.

 

“Cas, c’mere,” Dean gasped. He snagged Cas’ wrist and dragged the disgruntled ex-angel mostly onto his lap. Cas settled more comfortable across Dean’s thighs, still scowling.

 

“I considered it a fairly apt simile.”

 

Fresh peals of laughter escaped the others. Dean merely wrapped his arms around Cas’ waist and chuckled into his collarbone helplessly.

 

There was a rugaru playing with a corgi still wearing a pj-shirt covered in candy canes and two tow-headed epicenters of identical chaos (also know as twin human children) in his living room. A 14 year old vampire argued with a Hunter’s kid over steel darts. A psychic and a shapeshifter were eating gingerbread men with too many limbs (product of said vampire’s imagination). An 18 year old upcoming NYU undergrad cleaned up wrapping paper with a still laughing ex-Prophet of the Lord. His brother was discussing fairy laws with his best friend (and Queen in certain circumstances). And an ex-angel of the Lord was on his lap, fuming. All while fake snow fell from the ceiling and winking faerie lights flitted all over the house.

 

Yup.

 

_Merry Christmas._

 

**Author's Note:**

> SO MANY THANK YOUS, ALL THE THANK YOUS, to Jack (JadeyKins) for doing an amazing beta job, even though she doesn't even like this genre. It really meant a lot that she finished this entire fic for me. 
> 
> Thank you, also, for the encouragement from KKat who also is in the Calendar group!
> 
> Also, everyone go to destieladventcalendar.tumblr.com (if you weren't directed here from there)! It's full of Christmas fanworks! They were all really nice and supportive. You know, when I actually talked in that chat. I, myself, was a ghost in there. *sweats*


End file.
